Good Ol' Days
by dozefallsdownthestairs
Summary: Found: Twenty something, five eight-ish, mega-talent guitarist drunk off his ass in my favorite bar. Says his name is Arthur Kirkland. And if you don't come fast... I might just keep him. USUKUS AU
1. Chapter 1

_Oh, we'll remember this night when we're Old and Gray_

_Cause in the future these will be the good ol' days_

_Oh yeah, we're arm in arm as we sing away_

_In the future these will be the good ol' days_

Good Ol' Days by Script

"God only helps those who learn to help themselves, you hear, Alfred?"

Alfred smiled, leaning back from the table with a belch. "Alright, Grandpa. I got it, but if I eat anymore, I swear God'll be needing to help me out of this seat."

The old man smiled back, his eyes warm as melted chocolate. The ceiling fan swung lazily above them, flies buzzing against the electric lights. If Alfred listened he could hear his father getting ready for bed through the floor upstairs.

"I don't hear you asking for anymore stories." The old man noted. His expression grew sly, "You're going somewhere, aren't you?"

Alfred laughed breezily, slipping a hand into his pocket to make sure gramps hadn't accidentally found his fake ID, "Nooope, just gunna go right to bed. On a Friday night. You know me, gramps. My middle name is responsibility."

They held each other's gazes for a moment. The floorboards creaked in the old house. The crickets sang within and without. Alfred knew he wasn't fooling anyone. He sighed, but his grandfather was talking again.

"Oh don't mind me, sport. I won't remember in a couple hours anyway," He waved a hand dismissively. "In fact..." The old man threw a quick look towards the kitchen door, before wrestling out his cracked billfold and producing a fifty. "Get your friends some on me."

Alfred stared, before laughing breathlessly and snatching the gift, stashing it before his mom could see. "Geez, Grandpa, who knew you were such a..." He trailed, standing and leaving it at that.

His grandfather snorted, removing his glasses to polish them on his sweater sleeve. He had a bit of a regal look to him when he wanted. "I almost wish I could go out with you..." He laughed aloud at Alfred's expression. "Don't worry, I'll save you the embarrassment. Just remember, boy, hey, you listen here."

Alfred stopped at the door impatiently. His eyes already alive with excitement.

"These are your good old days," His grandfather told him. "Don't you waste them."

And he never forgot it.

0 0 0

"Jesus, Gil! You're going to kill us!" Alfred shouted, banging on the back window of the pickup from his place in the bed. "Lovi almost fell out."

"Don't call me that!" Alfred ducked away from the expected fist and smiled tightly at Antonio.

"Aren't you supposed to be controlling him?"

Antonio's usual good natured grin waxed troublesome. "You think tonight's a night for control, Alfred?"

Alfred pretended to consider, "Nah."

And Gilbert laughed from the front, blasting the radio louder. They were speeding along an old dusty road. Alfred had walked to school on it almost every day of his natural born life. Beside them, two cornfields became blurred silver walls, the moonlight absorbing into the leaves like some kind of drug. The sky above was open and vast and full of little pinpoints of light, some cluttered together and others stark on their own.

Alfred's heart was galloping something fierce. He'd been to the old town bar only once or twice before, and then only with his father when he was a little kid in Pull-ups, ordering his first big boy Coke. Gilbert, Antonio, and Lovino went all the time. After spending the better part of their high school years begging, Gilbert had finally convinced him to come along.

Alfred had always been a good boy of sorts, his name rather a byword for mamma's boy. In junior high, it had never occurred to him that this was a bad thing. By seventeen, however, he knew he'd have to do something about it, if only because Gilbert refused to speak to him in anything but Morse code around public places.

It was a small town that they lived in and it was no secret they were all under age. The bartender seemed to find amusement in Gilbert's first ever fake ID, made out of construction paper and hot glue. As long as they produced the money, they usually got some drinks. Nobody cared enough to care. It was just the sort of sleepy town where teenagers drank and smoked and set fields on fire, and so long as it wasn't your field, to hell with them. They were all going to hell anyway.

With a squeak of brakes and tires and a mushroom cloud of dust, Gilbert spun them into the dirt lot and they all jumped out. The ramshackle old building was alive with music. Loud guys with giant tattoos, giant mugs, and giant accents, held pretty young country gals, twenty years their junior on the porch. It looked like an old popsicle stick construction project in Alfred's mind, glued together with tobacco juice, sweat, and the blood of the jackasses who cursed country establishment.

Gil waved easily at people, even snuck in to give a couple girlies kisses on the cheeks. He was German, but when he wanted to he could slur on a dang good Texas accent. With the right pair of cowboy boots, he was unstoppable. The bartender had already recognized him and was prepping his usual.

Inside, the place was steamy and sticky and loud. It reeked heavily of smoke and hard work and diesel fuel. Alfred smiled because these were his people and this was his town. In some way, the lifeblood of the whole of Texas beat through this bar's tunes.

Settling in a slopping mess of Budweiser on a rickety old stool that had horseshoes for feet, he tried to take it all in. His friends had gone off to their various activities. Gilbert was sitting in the center of a group of men twice his age, telling them tall tales about his sex adventures. Most of which were made up, but you never knew with Gilbert. Antonio and Lovino were at the back. Alfred could just spot them over a couple folks doing the jig. He knew they'd been planning to sneak off when they were good and drunk. It would probably be just him and Gilbert on the way back, which was fine. He'd be the one driving. He didn't want to get too wasted, because his parents were rather sharp and would catch him if he so much as smelled a little off.

He did get a drink though, and sipped it interminably. Truth was he liked it alright. Could have had several more. Must have been the Texas in him. He managed to keep himself under control, though. Unlike most of the chaos around him.

A band was playing up front or was trying to play. Some pretty young, very drunk guy was accosting the banjo player, while the rest of the band already quite tipsy were all playing different parts to the same song. It was just the sort of discord Alfred liked and he found himself content to lean back and watch the show.

Gil came around a couple times to remind him he was being a boring dick. Alfred was beginning to think his whole goal in dragging them here was to see Alfred get drunk. He supposed he might as well do something with his time, so he started chatting up a pair of beauties in jean jackets, slurring on a thick accent because he knew they liked it Southern.

"And you've lived here all your life?" One of them asked, fiddling with his jacket collar.

"Yes ma'am," he answered with a crooked grin. "Been a real nice pleasure showing up tonight, I'll say. Seen so many great things to look at already."

They giggled. "What part are you from?"

"Oh around," he waved vaguely, and then added despite himself, "Pretty close around, though. If you wanted to go for a ride." He caught Gil's eye and he winked.

One girl leaned forward and rested her chin on his shoulder, smiling. "Is this real leather?"

"Did you make it yourself?" The other asked with her chin on his other shoulder.

"Nah," he started to explain the history behind his bomber jacket when someone crashed into the back of him and interrupted their conversation.

"Oh, he's about to get a real ass-whooping now!" Someone shouted so loudly Alfred couldn't help but hear it. The girls at his shoulder sighed in disgust, and he spun his stool around to see what was happening. The drunk guy who'd been trying to steal the banjo had apparently achieved his goal, but hadn't been looking where he was going.

He was sitting on the floor amongst the glass pieces of a couple broken bottles, laughing. The banjo was now clean in two, probably from colliding with Alfred's back. Alfred slowly looked above his head and realized what everyone was talking about.

The banjo player was a real... large man. A very large, very angry, tattoo-covered, horrendously drunk man. And his banjo was broken. The twig of a guy in front of him was holding the pieces. Alfred gulped. Shit was about to go down.

"Ya broke it." He stated flatly, looking very unamused.

The guy on the floor kept laughing, not even seeming to hear him. He was something of a punk, or so Alfred would say. He had at least six ear piercings. He wore a black, cotton v-neck and a pair of extremely tight black skinny jeans. Combat boots covered in straw and splashed with beer. He was completely wasted.

"Stop laughing." The whole bar was silent at this point. The bartender was trying to pretend that he didn't notice what was happening. He was supposed to prevent fights, but...

"I told ya! Stop laughing!" The banjo player roared, reaching suddenly forward to grab the guy by the throat. He certainly stopped laughing and rather started choking.

It took them all a minute to realize he was trying to speak. And then they wanted to know what he was going to say.

"What was that?" The banjo player asked, squeezing his neck just a bit harder. His face was going purple, the tips of his boots just scraping the concrete.

"I said..." he gasped, growled, blonde fringe flopping in his eyes, and they were really green, Alfred noticed. Really defiant. This was going to be bad. "You're..." he panted and then smiled toothily, "You're... an ass of a banjo player. My mother could play better than you."

Alfred cringed like he was the one about to be decked in the face. Damn, was this guy insane? Alfred groaned. No... feeling himself stand out of that bizarre sense of justice... he was just irredeemably drunk. The banjo player was slowly tightening his grip, enjoying how the young guy's face went from red to purple to blue.

"Stop." Alfred said it in barely more than a whisper, but his resolve was firm enough to gain everybody's attention. "Stop."

The banjo player squinted at him, then laughed. "Stay outta this, kid. He ain't from here anyway. Could use a real Texas lesson in my opinion."

"He's drunk," Alfred snapped impatiently, "He can't breathe. Stop."

"Now, why don't you go drink your kiddy Coke in the corner while the big bo-"

"Stop!" Alfred shouted and punched him square in the nose. The young guy landed in a coughing heap as the banjo player's hands shot up to cup his face. "Don't you speak to me like I'm five!" Alfred snapped, "Alright? It ain't fair holding someone for what they do while they're drunk. I'll pay you for your damn banjo." He tossed his grandpa's fifty at him. "Now leave him the hell alone."

The whole bar was silent for a minute. The banjo player was cussing and growling under his breath. For a second Alfred's heart thudded wildly as he considered whether to take the bait, but when he turned away, everyone knew that it had been settled. And they left Alfred with his fifty dollar prize. He bent down and held out his hand, impatiently. "Get up."

The blonde man raised his head and started laughing, taking Alfred's hand and allowing himself to get yanked to his feet.

Alfred frowned at him skeptically, as he careened into his side. "Someone needs to take you home."

"I drove myself," the man slurred as Alfred led him over to the counter. He hopped up to sit on it, but nearly fell over backwards so Alfred had to steady him.

"Well..." Alfred sighed awkwardly, wondering what dumbass would go to the bar and get so wasted without a way to get home. Apparently, this one. He most certainly wasn't from around here. It could have been just the beer, but Alfred could swear he had some kind of accent. British, if he had to guess. Which meant this guy was pretty damn far away from home.

"Hey..." he murmured, realizing something... "What's your name?"

The blonde guy had been leaning against him, head on Alfred's shoulder. "Ar-Arthur Kirkland..." he hiccuped, flipping his blonde hair from his face again and forcing himself into an upright position. "You know me." It wasn't a question.

"No... not like that," Alfred whispered, but yes he did know him. Kind of. "You're that guitarist... the one from that one band. You're..." The guy who's supposed to be in jail right now, drug-busted. Dear God, what was he doing here? Alfred stared. "Weren't you in jail?"

"Keep with the times. I'm on tour." Arthur slurred, stretching out suddenly to try and grab an unguarded beer. He leaned right in front of him, causing Alfred to suck in a whole whiff of stale alcohol and sweat. He definitely wasn't averse to touching, as he brushed Alfred purposefully before he sat back up with a triumphant lick of his lips and a Budweiser. Alfred stared as he drained the whole bottle with only a little hiccup and a big grin.

"You're ridiculous, man," he finally managed in disbelief, "You're going to be so wasted. Don't you have to play if you're on tour?"

"Play, sleep, same thing," Arthur rolled his eyes, already fishing for another. Alfred supposed he should stop him, but he was now substantially impressed that Arthur was still standing (figuratively). The guy was pint sized. How he managed to hold all that alcohol was beyond him.

His awe didn't last long. Arthur suddenly hit him on the head with a bottle, hard enough to bruise. It was sheer luck the glass didn't break.

"Shit!" he cursed in shock. "What the hell was that for?"

"I... I wanted to see if I could break it," Arthur swayed dangerously to one side, looking fiercely disappointed.

Alfred sighed, rubbing the sore spot, hoping Gil had ibuprofen in the car. "You're lucky I'm not someone else. They'll beat the crud out of you. Drunk or not."

"Hey, I'll tell you a secret if you want," Arthur slurred suddenly, smiling.

Alfred frowned warily, watching the light seem to haze over in his insanely green eyes. "Alright."

"I snuck out tonight, ya know? They chained me to my bed, but I..." He wrestled in his pocket for a moment and produced a hair pin, "...am so much smarter-er than that." He giggled losing his balance and letting his head crash into Alfred's shoulder.

"Smarter-er?" Alfred asked incredulously and then shivered when Arthur twisted his head up playfully.

"Ain't that the way y'all talk around here?" Arthur's sour breath tickled under his chin before he pushed himself up again, overcorrecting so much that he would have fallen backwards if Alfred hadn't reached out and caught him.

"When we were five maybe," he laughed in exasperation, allowing Arthur to hold onto his arm for stability, "Why'd... why'd you come to a country bar, ain't you a real high dollar priss? Least that's what I've heard." From the news and the papers, Arthur was a spend thrift apparently. And usually on the worst sort of stuff.

"Nah, I j-just like booze," He threw back his head and laughed again. Alfred rested his case. When Arthur kept going, Alfred couldn't help but laugh with him, because the situation was utterly ridiculous. He'd somehow come into possession of a lost twenty something, mega-talent guitarist drunk off his ass in a little Texas bar.

"Hey... hey," Arthur tugged on his shirt with a crooked smile, "Sit up here with me. View's g-great."

He had a mild suspicion that Arthur was flirting with him, but he didn't argue, hopping up. Since he'd already decided he wouldn't be getting drunk, he might as well spend tonight making sure this guy didn't kill himself.

"Hey..." Arthur murmured again. He had a beer in his hand now, a mug this time, a bit big in his small hands. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Alfred answered, automatically reaching over to keep Arthur from accidentally tipping it on his lap.

"You're young." Arthur noted dreamily, taking a loud gulp, the foam sticking to his lips like glue. Alfred thought he almost seemed a bit innocent this way... strangely. "You..." He laughed again. "Do you know how old I am?"

"No." He took the empty mug and had it filled again.

"Twenty-one," Arthur nodded, reaching for it, "Or twenty-two."

"Which one?" Alfred's lips twitched in amusement, despite himself. Withholding the beer until he got a decent answer.

"I don't know. It's not important. Point is I can drink wherever I want." He scooted closer, eyes smoldering. Alfred shifted away and placed the beer in his hands. "If you were eighteen, you could drink where I come from." He took a large smacking drink, laughing again.

Alfred chuckled nervously, not sure if he liked him that close, "Well, I'm already breaking the rules over here, ain't I? Should hardly have any qualms about breaking them over there."

"Aren't you bad?" Arthur was losing interest in his drink, inching closer again to rest his chin on Alfred's shoulder. "You got anywhere else to be tonight?"

"Not that I know of," Alfred gulped, hoping that Gil wasn't seeing this. Last thing he needed to be was queer and a mamma's boy.

Arthur shoved the empty beer mug in his hands quite suddenly, laughing. "Get me another one, then."

Alfred hesitated. That had to be his... fifth one? since they'd sat down. "If you stay right here."

"If you come right back." Arthur answered, nearly falling off the bar again. Squirming a bit so that Alfred's eyes started to trail down to his... God, he turned abruptly away to fetch the beer. Alfred wondered heatedly if Arthur was even remotely like this when he was sober. He'd seen an interview before, he was pretty sure. If he remembered right, Arthur had acted like a dick and his father had warned him that if he ever, _ever _talked to an authority like that, his ass would be beat straight to hot red hell.

But he'd heard Arthur's music before and it was good. He didn't often listen to new stuff, more of an oldies boy himself, but Arthur could damn well play guitar like Zeppelin. Which was impressive these days. He had about the same track record, too, apparently.

Alfred handed him the full mug again, and he took it happily, listing to one side.

"You wanna share that?" he couldn't help but ask sarcastically.

"No," Arthur wiggled his fingers, dripping with condensation, "but I'll share somethin' else if you want it."

Alfred pretended he hadn't heard. Now was a good time to flag Gil down and get out of here.

"Hey... hey," Arthur tugged on his sleeve and then resorted to more... provocative means when Alfred still refused to pay him attention.

"Dude!" He yelped in surprise, pushing Arthur's face away. "Stop it. That's not okay. I know you're drunk, but I don't want your damn tongue in my ear."

"Think you'd be up for some fun then?" Arthur reached out and grabbed his chin to make him look. He obviously seemed to have missed the last of everything Alfred had just said. His green eyes were glowing in the dim lights. Alfred felt himself freeze in his grip. His eyes... Arthur licked his lips and grinned wider. Oh god, he was in the hands of a sex fiend.

"Uh..." he blubbered, feeling himself panic. He had no idea what had just happened. This wasn't good. He slipped off the bar counter suddenly. "I... I gotta get home soon actually. I don't think you-" But Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders before he could escape.

"Wait," Arthur said breathlessly, "I'm drunk. You can't leave me alone. I'll... I'll hurt myself." To prove his point, he leaned so far backwards, Alfred had to catch him again or he would surely have knocked all his brains out. Alfred knew he was being played, knew it, but... He shivered under Arthur's sharp gaze, wondering why it was actually working. He'd only been flirting for fun before, not to get into anybody's-

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"I said: Wha's your name?" Arthur slurred impatiently, giving the open collar of Alfred's button-up a crisp tug, "I need something to yell when I'm fucking you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, not what I was-" Alfred started to protest, but was rather rudely interrupted when Arthur leaned forward and smashed their lips together. He rationalized later that he only leaned into it because, you know, never kissed a dude before. Not because he was actually into Arthur. And not because... Damn! Alfred blinked in surprise when Arthur pulled back smirking. That was way too fast.

"I... I'm drunk," Alfred fumbled for an excuse, which ended up being a lie.

Arthur laughed, "You don't know drunk."

"I... I don't know you."

"Exactly. You can forget the hell who I am in the morning. Just like I will for you. But I gotta say," Arthur licked his lips, "You'd look much better without clothes on." Positively shamelessly, he reached up to wrap his arms around Alfred's neck. "Tell your buddies, you're coming home with me."

Alfred started to hesitate again.

He glanced at Gilbert, busy with some busty blonde. He glanced at Antonio, busy with Lovino. Arthur smirked wider, scooting up so he could wrap his legs around Alfred's waist, "Might as well get busy, too."

**Aren't you a naughty boy, Artie? Haha, hopefully this isn't too cliché for anybody. I promise I'll be taking it to places you'd never expect. I'm still kinda new to this website so any reviews are so much appreciated, thanks -doze**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Merry early Christmas! I have a bit of drunk Arthur as my gift ;p**

**Thanks so much to my reviewers: ZanyAnimeGirl, FlyingMintBunny2, theSardonyx, and Zeplerfer. Every word of yours is super encouraging and you make a writer want to write. **

**Now... I promise this chapter is rated T. :) **

The night air was a rush. Alfred had never held anybody's hand so tight as Arthur dragged him impatiently around the back. It only made sense that a punk like him had a punk-like motorcycle. Alfred wondered if he was dreaming when Arthur jammed the keys into his hand.

At his expression, Arthur rolled his eyes and declared loudly, "I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid. You drive."

Alfred decided this was probably a good idea when Arthur got on facing the wrong way.

"I hope you know I've never driven one of these before," he warned, shoving the key in the ignition. Arthur had wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist and was pressing his face into Alfred's shoulder blades.

"Mmph, I don't give a damn. Just find a good hotel out a ways. I won't be able to wait with you," he cackled slightly and let his fingers rest heavily, entwined, in Alfred's lap. Alfred swallowed, but his heart had begun to fly. He kick-started the motor, and they were soaring. Now, he wasn't sure what was justifying this in his good boy mind, but all he knew was that he was letting it happen. And damn, it felt good right now.

No helmets to speak of, Alfred's bangs whipped back and his eyes stung. The stars above them became a sort of epileptic laser show. Arthur laughed behind him, suddenly standing up and throwing his arms back. The guy was crazy.

"Careful!" Alfred shouted, but then he started laughing too and there was no stopping once they'd got going. Arthur shouted, slamming his fists toward the sky. They were utterly alone and it was amazing. When Arthur started singing, he started too, feeling Arthur's fingers twist, then, in his hair.

The speed was like a drug. Alfred couldn't help but gun it more and more until the motor was screaming at him. Arthur suddenly plopped down again, and threw his arms around Alfred's waist. "Are we almost there?" he demanded impatiently. "Hey!" He shouted before Alfred could answer, "What was your name again?"

"Alfred!" He yelled back.

"Like the conqueror?" He felt Arthur's lips on his neck and Arthur's voice rumbled in his ear, lower and more powerful than the motor. "I like it."

Alfred shuddered, swinging the bike around into the parking lot of some crumbling inn, shady as all shit. He jumped off, throwing the keys in his pocket and offering his hand to Arthur.

"I think I'm about to conquer new regions," he teased with a devilish smirk, as he remembered what his grandfather had told him. These were the good ol' days, and if he wasn't going to have a couple crazy nights, he wasn't living. There was his justification. His conscience could now go quietly to hell.

Arthur's smirk, if possible, widened. He arrested Alfred's hand with his own, leaping gracelessly from the bike, slamming his body purposefully into him. "Sorry," he apologized with no apology.

"We better damn well get inside soon," Alfred growled, noticing that Arthur had something quite hard going on in his pants right now. Arthur laughed, dragging him impatiently into the buzzing lights of the information building.

The wiry, little guitarist flashed his credit card like he owned the world. Alfred almost expected him to start complaining about the venue. But he was much too preoccupied with Alfred. He didn't bother to tone down his shameless groping in front of the desk lady, ringing them up. If anything, he turned it up, grinning more, pressing closer. He was good looking, really. Alfred thought. His clothes showed off his thin body, tight as could be. The various chains hanging off his jeans, the earrings, they were all starting to add up to a wild time in Alfred's mind. His eyebrows were crazy as was his hair at the moment, leaping in all different directions. The rumpled look suited him, and unable to stop himself, Alfred reached up to run his fingers along Arthur's jaw, amused to feel stubble.

Arthur could see that he was very close to getting what he wanted. It made him daring. He reached out, catching Alfred's other hand... bringing it forward... pushing it against his pants... Alfred breathed in quickly and Arthur was suddenly all over his face, chewing on his lip hungrily. Alfred knew that the kiss at the bar had only been a starter.

The woman cleared her throat impatiently, and Alfred decided it was to her credit that she still held her bored face. He started to reach out to take the card himself, Arthur fiddling fanatically with his belt buckle. But before Alfred's fingers could even brush the plastic of the card, Arthur turned angrily and swiped it away from her. His green eyes sparkled with some kind of possessive hostility. How dare she try to steal his toy from him. Alfred gulped, feeling his heart pick up again. This was exhilarating.

He ran his fingers through Arthur's crazy hair, claiming his spastic attention again. "Come on," he groaned softly, "You can't wait, remember?" Alfred was the one feeling like he couldn't wait.

Eagerly, Arthur took him by the hand again and they went searching for their room. It took longer than it should have to find it. Partially because Arthur was drunk and Alfred was pretty sure he had a concussion and partially because Arthur kept accosting his mouth every few seconds. He couldn't say he was complaining.

They did find it, though. Alfred was glad. He didn't think sleeping on the floor of this crap hotel hallway was very appealing. Sleeping on the bed wasn't going to be much better, but at least there'd be a foot between them and all the dead things on the floor. Alfred found the door and banged it open, Arthur hanging off his other arm.

He had barely got it shut before Arthur was dumping his shirt on the floor. Alfred could feel his pulse beating in his ears. His eyes trailing lustily over Arthur's small figure. Arthur's torso was thin and pale. Alfred couldn't swallow the sudden desire to touch... everything. Arthur looked up, and he paused too, when he realized Alfred was... checking him out. Leaving his obnoxiously tight pants on, he slinked over, grinning like a cat.

"I'm not too bad, am I?" He asked sarcastically, slipping his fingers around the edges of Alfred's shirt. "Let's see what you've got..." Whatever Alfred had, he definitely seemed happy with it, because he eagerly pressed his forehead to Alfred's bare chest. "You're naughty, ya know. You're making me wait now."

"You really want to do it with me?" Alfred asked, feeling strange.

Arthur looked up, "No, I brought you all the way here so you could sit in that corner and watch me jerk off. You're an idiot." He was swaying to one side, so Alfred held him steady.

Alfred smiled, "Oh, I wasn't asking because I was afraid. I just wanted to make sure you were sure."

Arthur blinked quizzical green eyes at him. "I'm damn sure."

"Oh, I'm just saying," Alfred murmured breathily, "I didn't realize how good you'd look without your shirt on." He slipped his arms around Arthur's waist. "It might get a bit... intense... if you take your pants off too."

Arthur shivered violently. Whatever calm he had before seemed to have evaporated, because he tugged at the belt loops of Alfred's pants fiercely. "D-damn you," he slurred, "I thought you were a first-timer."

Alfred smiled, finding the button of Arthur's pants without looking. "I am. I'm just damn good."

Arthur froze and Alfred laughed, kissing him straight on his startled lips. "I owned you there for a second, didn't I? Now hurry up. This boner's killing me."

Alfred had his pants off in no time, but he danced away when Arthur tried to peel off his boxers too.

"What are you doing now?" Arthur practically yelled at him in frustration, and nearly tripped trying to get at him. He wasn't used to having to work for his food then. What a spoiled thing, Alfred smirked.

"It's only fair that you take your pants off too," he pointed out reasonably. "And since you've got damn leggings on, I can't do it."

Arthur scowled edgily, but began clawing at the fabric. It was like peeling off a second skin. Alfred watched him, laughing when he stumbled. His coordination was hardly there after all those beers. "Guess immodesty comes with a price," he chortled and Arthur punched him in the side. He was too drunk to get his pants off. Honestly, it was hilarious.

"How's your boner feeling about right now?" he laughed, "I think mine's getting worse. It sure is sexy to watch you stumble around like an idiot."

"Shut the hell up!" Arthur shouted at him, his face the color of a fire-truck. He gave a kick and lost his balance tumbling gracelessly to his butt, pants still clinging with vice-like strength to his upper thighs. He looked like he was about ready to throw a full on tantrum. His face was cute, flushed like that. Alfred found that he probably would have enjoyed watching him this way all night. But he figured it was kind of killjoy-ish to just let his boner fade, and leave Arthur suffering on the floor.

"Come here, you idiot," he said, his voice dripping with some odd affection. "You're ruining my first time." He reached out and caught Arthur's hand dragging him to his feet. "And here I was just thinking you were the sex machine," Alfred started to push Arthur down onto the bed, but changed his mind suddenly and set him on his lap instead, grabbing the waistband of his pants and beginning to peel them off. "How can you even have a boner with pants this tight? I'd imagine your dick would fall off after awhile."

Arthur was, for lack of a better word, sulking, ignoring Alfred moodily. Alfred slipped his thin feet out through the holes till Arthur was sitting in just his boxers. He tried to catch his eye, but Arthur was staring resolutely at the butt-ugly wallpaper. He was a real immature twenty-whatever-year-old, that was for sure. Alfred would just have to fix the mood then.

"Hey..." he murmured gently, reaching up, catching Arthur's cheek in his palm. He pressed his lips confidently to Arthur's, long and slow, letting his tongue tease along Arthur's lower lip. He could feel Arthur beginning to warm up to him, though he was trying and failing to keep his stiff posture.

"Now," Alfred muttered, as he pulled back a centimeter, "I don't know about you, but I didn't drive out here to sit and do nothing. I think you could be damn sexy, and if you're worried about saving face to some guy you'll probably never see again, why don't you... prove it?" He brought his lips to Arthur's again, feeling his heart start to pound.

He expected Arthur to move on him, then. He'd definitely put himself out there, and he could see what it was doing to Arthur by way of the lump in his boxers. But Arthur only shifted a bit, smiling dirtily, his eyelids starting to droop. He tried to sit up and he got halfway, before letting his chin drop to Alfred's shoulder and he was out.

Alfred stared for a moment in utter silence, before groaning. "Now, what did I say about driving out here and doing nothing?"

But Arthur was long gone, completely limp in Alfred's arms. His breathing steady and slow. Alfred frowned, wondering what to do next. So much for a first time. He could just leave him. It would serve him right for playing like that. Being so tantalizing and then just plain dropping before they'd even taken off their underwear. He supposed it was proper one night stand etiquette to leave him in the room, but...

He ran a hand through Arthur's crazy blonde hair. He didn't really know the guy. And he seemed a little off-the-wall. Alfred had heard the horror stories of what could happen to you after you'd drunk enough to be knocked out. Hell, Led Zeppelin's drummer had died aspirating vomit. That was the most pathetic way to die ever. Alfred sighed. He wasn't going to let that happen if he could help it.

Sitting up, he carefully laid Arthur's limp body across the bed, hearing the swish of beer in his belly from all the insane amounts of alcohol he'd ingested. Really. Alfred rolled his eyes, but pulled the covers up over him and made sure he wasn't in some uncomfortable position. He then mounted the other side of the bed, fished out the TV remote and settled himself in for a night of TLC. He deserved it. Especially if he was going to play guardian to the drunk tease on his left.

0 0 0

Around three in the morning, he was somewhat hazy on how this happened, but it did. He rejoined with coherency in a fog of fuzzy television screen noises to find that TLC had cut out. He reached to flip it off. And in the sudden silence and blinding darkness, his heart nearly leaped out of his mouth to be met with a pair of vivid green eyes and a hot forehead against his chest. He was positive he wasn't awake. At least not enough to realize Arthur was curled on his chest and his blonde hair was near enough to be getting stuck in Alfred's mouth.

"You're still here..." It was a question, asked in a raspy, world-weary tone of voice.

"Yes..." Alfred murmured, "...I can leave if you want me to."

"You're still here." It was a statement. Arthur fell silent then, rubbing his cheek against Alfred's chest. Without thinking, Alfred ran his hand soothingly through Arthur's wiry hair, feeling like it was some kind of magic that made Arthur's eyes start to droop again.

After a good ten minutes of perfect, motionless silence, he figured he couldn't be dreaming as dreams usually didn't pause like this for realization breaks. But this... this made him antsy, because there was a certain domesticity to it. Arthur was small and Alfred could tell it even more so by how close he was. He could feel the sharp little ends of Arthur's elbows and his knees, pressing into his chest and into his thighs. Alfred's whole side was hot with Arthur's heat. He must have cuddled up awhile ago, then, ducking his head in the nook of Alfred's collarbone. Arthur's breathing had gone even and slow. He could feel it when it blew across his chest. Alfred knew you weren't supposed to think about it much. One night stands were thoughtless things by virtue, but... they hadn't even really had a one night stand.

He laid a hand on Arthur's bony back, rubbing down the length of it. Maybe it was just him, but he wanted to know the people he had sex with... or almost had sex with. Actually know them. And maybe it was just the beer, but Arthur seemed like a cool person to know. He wondered if Arthur would tolerate going to breakfast with him the next morning. He could at least apologize for all the mean things he'd said about the tight pants. (He liked Arthur's tight pants anyway. For very many obvious reasons).

He brushed his lips in Arthur's hair, feeling warm and wishing it would last. He supposed that tomorrow his bubble would burst. Tonight was magic, and magic was only openness made easy by a cloak of darkness. It was odd, but Alfred didn't really mind holding the crazy drunkard as he drifted through dream world again, sleeping off his alcohol. And he had a feeling the crazy drunkard didn't mind curling into his side and being fondled over while he did it.

**Thanks for reading! I'll be updating somewhat weekly so check around then. Leave a review if you got the time ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! -doze**

The splitting headache that woke him was something that he should have counted on. He rolled over on his side with a moan, doing his absolute best to block out the morning light. It took him a couple minutes to realize that this wasn't his bed. His eyes flew open in surprise.

He was met with the slightly seizure-inducing wallpaper of a hotel room, splotchy and faded in the half-morning light. His heart skipped a beat when he remembered what happened last night. Looking to his left, he was shocked to find the bed empty, wondering with half a mind if he had only imagined himself a partner named Arthur.

The sound of gagging drew his attention to the cracked bathroom door, and he relaxed with a weak chuckle. Nevermind. Someone was paying for their fun. Arthur emerged after a little bit, wearing to Alfred's amusement, his own bomber jacket. A whirlwind had attacked his hair. If it had been bad yesterday, Alfred could assure it was much worse today. He had dark purple and blue splotches under his eyes, cheeks looking unusually hollow. He wiped his mouth on Alfred's sleeve. Lovely.

"Hey, I've got a good cure for a hangover," Alfred said in a sleepy voice, waving him over. "C'mere."

Arthur slumped forward, shielding his eyes from the sun and muttering black curses under his breath. He stood in front of Alfred glaring, "What?"

Alfred smiled lazily, "Got any smokes?"

And despite himself, Arthur grinned a bit.

Alfred couldn't admit how happy he was when Arthur climbed over him and collapsed back in the bed. He had been a bit scared at first that Arthur had just up and left when he had found the bed empty. The least they could do now was spend the morning wallowing together in their self-caused misery.

Alfred turned on his side to face Arthur. "What's it like," he began, grinning when Arthur scowled at him for breaking the silence, "What's it like in Britain?"

"I don't know. Why don't you bloody go there?" growled Arthur impatiently. He pulled a pillow over his head. Yep, Alfred had been right. He was the exact opposite of his drunk self.

"Well..." he persisted anyway, "what's it like in New York?"

"Alfred, shut up."

Alfred smiled, "You know, Arthur, I want to be a pilot someday. You oughtta make me your personal pilot."

"Why the _hell _would I do that?" He pushed the pillow down a bit so that Alfred could see one of his bloodshot green eyes. He smirked suggestively. "To have a whore?"

"That's not very nice."

"I'm not a very nice person."

"Mmm. Well, you should try to be. You aren't going to have many friends acting like that," Alfred meant it as a joke, but Arthur scowled at him, pulling the pillow back over his face.

"Arthur..." he continued after a pause, "when did you first start playing guitar?"

"When your ass."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm sorry I'm a bit hungover," Arthur ducked his head out to smile primly, "I meant up your ass."

Alfred frowned at him. "I don't think that's very funny."

"Well, I do. That's all that matters."

Alfred laughed in exasperation, "You're a royal..."

"Ass?" Arthur supplied, voice muffled.

"No..." Alfred groaned, beginning to wish he had left when he had the chance, "I think disappointment would be a better description. A royal disappointment."

Arthur pulled the pillow more resolutely across his face and said, "Glad to make your acquaintance."

"Oh, don't be an ass," Alfred finally cracked and swatted at him. "Not everyone's going to worship you for stardom, you know."

"_No one _worships me for stardom," Arthur snorted. "Do you know me?"

"I'm afraid we've just met," Alfred chuckled weakly. "Damn, I've gotta killer headache. Thanks for smashing my skull with a bottle last night, you little shit."

"You didn't have any pills in your pockets, I checked." Arthur answered serenely.

"Shame," Alfred lamented, "Kinda wishing I was a hard core druggie now after this headache. Just gunna shoot up with some heroin and whatever the hell else." He knew he was being unpleasant right now, but he couldn't help it. "Didn't you get sent to rehab for this stuff? You got anything?"

"They had me locked. What do you think?" Arthur bit out sourly. He rolled onto his side, holding Alfred's gaze for a moment. "Does that bother you?" It was a question seemingly out of nowhere. Alfred pretended to consider.

"No," he answered honestly. "So long as you're not killing anyone, I guess you have the right to kill yourself."

Arthur scowled harder and flipped away from him. "You need a ride back to town?"

"If you can spare one. I don't think I can find my way back walking," Alfred said lightly, "Is there somewhere you have to be?"

"Well, I eventually have to get back to my real hotel," Arthur muttered, "or I'm pretty sure they'll cut off my credit cards. Huh... they might even come here."

"Are you gunna go straight back?"

"Hell, that's a joke, right?"

Alfred frowned. "You don't like it there?"

"It's the shit." was all Arthur bothered to say, leaving the rest for interpretation.

"Well, I think you're good," Alfred whispered after a moment, trying to make up for his earlier stupid comments, "I've heard your stuff on the radio. I could never play guitar like that..." He laughed, "Believe me, I've tried. But..." he trailed and though Arthur wasn't looking at him anymore, he shifted. "But, I think I like the ones where you're singing best. For one, you've got a much better voice than that lead guy and two... I guess you just sound like you mean it."

Arthur had turned to face him, his brows pulled together in a slight frown, like he didn't believe it. "You like those?"

"Of course. There's only a couple, right?" Alfred frowned and said intuitively, "I wish they'd let you do more."

To this, Arthur laughed, laughed in his face. "I write all the songs, you know. All Keith does is sing them. But the ones they let me sing... ha, I'm scary. I'll scare the children! I can't sing my own damn music! They let me sing the ones about Christmas or my grandfather or some other shit. None of the real ones... none of the..." He trailed realizing he'd gotten quite personal and turned abruptly away.

"Well," Alfred spoke to his back, "that sure sucks. You should be able to dress and sing however you damn wanna. I for one, am a great fan of these." He reached forward and brushed his finger against all the piercings along Arthur's cartilage. Arthur stiffened at his touch. "And your songs... even the ones what's his face sings... they're yours. They don't make sense in his voice."

Arthur shifted, but still didn't look at him.

"Is..." Alfred hesitated, "Is it only cuz you look scary that they won't let you sing?"

"Well, you're damn clever," Arthur growled sarcastically, "It could be because of all the drugs and alcohol, but it might just be because I look scary."

Alfred felt his heart burn and he sat up. "Why, then? Why are you here, Arthur? All you're doing is proving them right!"

"Don't you start lecturing me!" Arthur snarled, turning suddenly and giving Alfred a vicious backhand, completely out of the blue, enough to set his eyes watering. "I don't need their shit. I don't need his shit. And I definitely don't need your shit."

"I'm not giving you shit!" Alfred shot angrily back, rubbing his cheek, "God, you're a little selfish brat! I'm giving you truth and if you don't want to listen, it's your own damn fault they won't let you sing. Don't think I haven't heard the news about you! You could, I don't know, try a bit harder maybe? I don't feel sorry for you!"

"I never asked you to." Arthur shouted. "_I never asked you to. _I'm not looking for your pity. Look! Look at this! Look at these." He shoved his wallet into Alfred's face, full of credit cards, full of cash, full. "And what do you have?" he spat cruelly, wrestling in Alfred's jacket until he produced the billfold. "Five bucks and some receipts! And a picture of your old geezer. Don't act like I'm not better than you!" He chucked Alfred's wallet straight into his face, breathing heavily. Too heavily, his green eyes widened suddenly and he sent himself careening towards the bathroom.

"You're a sick fuck," Alfred muttered under his breath as he listened to Arthur heaving up all of last night's magic. He sighed. Arthur had slapped, literally slapped him. When Arthur came out again, he expected him to gather his things and be off. But instead, he huffily mounted the bed again, turned his back to Alfred and went on ignoring him.

Alfred stood and fished his pants on. "I'm going to see if the front desk has any ibuprofen." _Don't worry about giving me my jacket back_, he thought wryly, slipping into his button-up and then heading out. He wandered his way down to speak to the lady at the front desk. When they did have some, he was more than a little surprised. He put the complimentary bottle in his pocket, and realizing that they had a complimentary breakfast, decided he could live without Arthur's negativity for a few minutes.

A cup of warm coffee to wash the pills down was very welcome. He considered for a moment, before deciding to make one up for Arthur too. Birds chirped outside and the sun shown bright across the television screen, broadcasting the end of the news. Alfred hummed as he began piling up a plate full of food to take back to the room.

"..._ ille Records seems to have lost their young talent once again in the Dallas part of the tour. They'll have to postpone yet another show tonight, Sally. Kirkland hasn't been seen since last Friday, they're pretty sure he's lost, Steve..."_

At this the two reporters laughed, and Alfred looked up, frowning.

_"...oh, come on guys, we all know he's probably doping. Have you seen his track record recently? Caught three weeks in a row with narcotics and illegal substances in New York. The company's had to dish out nearly thirty grand just this year trying to keep him out of rehab. Not to mention jail, Sally! He's cost them close to a million in cover up, alone. You know that means we don't even know half the trouble he's gotten into. And I'm sure we don't want to know. Some of those things rock stars get into can be pretty scary. Just look down through the ages. Rumor has it, his sales have dropped by fifty percent this year, __**fifty percent,**__ Steve. That's pretty drastic. I mean, I guess that's what negative publicity will do for you. In my opinion he doesn't even seem to want to be around anymore. Well, in that case," Sally smiled a brilliant newscaster's smile to end the show, "maybe we'd all be better off if he was never found. Thank you for listening to this Morning's News. I'm Sally Sh..."_

Alfred could only stare for a moment, wondering why this seemed so much like a heap of bad news to him. Sure, it was bad news for Arthur, but for him? He swallowed heavily and gathered his plate and their cups. It wasn't his place, he decided. He wouldn't say anything about it. Arthur's slap had sure set it straight for him.

With an extreme amount of coordination, he got the door open and found Arthur laying spread eagle, face down on the bed. "You're not dead, are you?" he asked jokingly, resolving then and there to be light nonetheless, carefully placing their coffee cups and plate full of food on the side table.

Arthur groaned into the pillows, but said nothing else.

"If you're willing to be coherent, I have coffee and pills for you," Alfred offered, "Might make you feel better."

Arthur dragged himself slowly into a sitting position, blinking haggardly. He must have thrown-up again. "Bring it here." No thank you to be heard.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Alfred rolled his eyes, but handed him the Styrofoam cup and the bottle of pills. "Take, like, six at least," he advised, "You've got it bad."

"I thought you wanted to get out of here," Arthur yawned, pouring some into his palm and throwing them in his mouth. "This much meds and I'll sleep all day, for sure." He sat bleary-eyed and crazy-haired drinking his coffee. Alfred brought over his breakfast medley and put it between them on the bed.

"Well, that's alright," Alfred shrugged, "I wouldn't want you driving me with a hangover, anyway. Plus, my parents are going to skin me alive, so I'd like to put off that torture for as long as I can."

Arthur laughed roughly, "That's right. You still live at home..." He seemed to hesitate for a minute. "Well, if you don't mind staying awhile longer... I could use the sleep."

"No problem, so could I," Alfred agreed eagerly, and then leaned back to crash on the bed lazily. "Sorry."

"Sorry what?"

"For acting like I know anything about any of your business. For one, it's your business, not mine. And for two, I judge on what I physically know. And I physically know that you're a great guy." He let an innuendo slide, but smiled genuinely, yawning. "I don't see why we have to part on bad terms. I just need a buddy to help me sleep off this headache, and if you're willing to cuddle, I don't see why it can't be you."

He watched Arthur who had his gaze fixed intently in the murky brown depths of his off-brand coffee.

"Well..." he murmured finally, picking up a bagel with his spindly fingers and nibbling a bit at the end. "I suppose I could see why you'd be concerned. It's rather... rather... just... different, actually."

"What is?"

"Concern, I guess. At least compared to the malicious gossipy interest I usually get."

Alfred watched his hunched back for awhile longer, thinking he seemed quite alone sitting on the edge of the bed like that. "You know... I don't know you that well, but I do give a damn. If... that means anything."

Arthur looked up and shrugged. "I'll take it today." He finished off his coffee and then didn't seem to have any qualms settling back into Alfred and pulling Alfred's arms around him.

After some hesitation, Alfred rested his chin atop of Arthur's head and brushed his thumb gently back and forth along Arthur's arm, trying to ignore the scars there. The scars from shooting up. He closed his eyes and breathed out.

"Arthur, you don't seem very happy."

"I'm actually feeling fine right now. Thanks for your concern," Arthur murmured sleepily. Alfred figured the pills were kicking in.

"No... I mean... generally. You told me yourself that... you were better than me. You just don't seem very happy."

Arthur stiffened. "Alfred, can we not talk about this? I really am tired of-"

"Alright," Alfred interrupted before he could get worked up. "Alright. Go on and sleep. We need it."

Arthur nestled more into him, giving a cute, little yawn so out of character that it had Alfred grinning. He was surprised when Arthur started talking again a few moments later.

"Britain is nice. It rains a lot, but London has always been my city. I've never been to Scotland or Wales, so I guess I can't say it's nice there. Only England and that's my home." He kept his eyes on the sheets as if he were talking about something very important to him. "I started playing guitar when I was seven. It was one my grandfather bought me. He told me I would be a rockstar one day when he caught me singing and playing air guitar in the garden. He died later, but I still played. I really liked it. It helped get me through primary and secondary hell. I didn't want to go to uni, so I dropped out as soon as I could at sixteen. I started trying to get my music out on the radios, but no one wanted it. My parents were angry with me because I wasn't working. But I was and that's when I started getting really good. I could play some of the old Queen riffs and other classic bands and it just started feeling like fate..." He trailed off, falling silent.

Without thinking, Alfred gave him a kiss on the head, "That's amazing," he murmured appreciatively and then thought a little more. Now that Arthur seemed to be willing to answer his questions. "What's your favorite thing about England?"

Arthur laughed tiredly. "I don't know. What's your favorite thing about America? Can you really pick just one thing?"

"No..." Alfred chuckled, "I guess not. I've just never been out of the country. I wanna know what it's like."

"It's strange," Arthur answered, "This place is strange. You all do things a little differently and don't even realize it."

Alfred smiled, "But not all bad?"

"No..." Arthur breathed out, "Sometimes I meet some really great Americans." Alfred felt his heart burn. "Of course, there are dickheads like you too."

"Oh shut up, you little bastard," Alfred shook him sharply and he hiccupped.

"Careful," he warned with a small smile, "Or I'll puke on our sheets."

"You started it," Alfred rolled his eyes, laying his cheek to Arthur's feathery hair again. "It's like you're trying to get me going."

"I can't help it," Arthur excused sleepily. "I'm an instigator."

"That's a damn copout if I ever heard one," Alfred growled with his eyes half-closed, but he brushed his fingers softly back and forth against Arthur's arm in a soothing motion. Finding that Arthur was just as warm and cuddly as he'd been last night.

Arthur chuckled, pushing himself nearer.

"I'll take your crap today..." he said in a voice lower than a whisper. "I'll... I'll take you today..." Soon his breathing had evened out and he was half-snoring. Alfred felt his back curve in and out a bit as he breathed. The room was quiet. Dust motes drifted lazily in the cracks of light, beaming through the blinds.

He wondered if this was what his grandfather had meant by good old days. A quick kind-of fling with a rockstar and then back to working in the fields. That didn't seem right to him.

His father used to joke that spending time with Alfred was dangerous.

Because if you spent time with him, he'd figure you liked him, and then you'd never be able to get rid of him. Alfred smiled. He supposed he'd held on this long. Maybe he could get away with keeping Arthur... just a bit longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Heya guys. Sorry about the somewhat long break between updates. This was kinda a fast write, but I owe it. So here it is. **

**Thanks to my reviewers! You guys rock!- doze**

When Alfred had rubbed the crust out of his eyes for the second time that day, he was met with a pair of green ones that made him squirm goofily. "Morning Arthur."

"I believe it's night, actually," Arthur yawned, giving him a gentle pat on the arm, "The management came knocking around noon to get me out. I'm paying for another night, but we don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Ah," Alfred blinked haggardly, "You should have just woke me up. I don't mean to cost you money like that." He could tell already that Arthur seemed happy, content. A bit of the hard, jaded malice from earlier was hardly recognizable.

Arthur snorted, "This? This is nothing. Anyway, _I _wanted to sleep. I think they'll be rather glad to be rid of me, after I nearly tore the housekeeper's head off when she came knocking next."

Alfred chuckled, pushing his face into Arthur's back and stretching out his toes. "You're really grouchy when you're hungover."

"I was sleeping," Arthur murmured petulantly, "And just because this place doesn't have Do-Not-Disturb signs, doesn't mean I'm going to suffer. I almost constructed one myself, you know."

"Out of what?"

"Toilet paper and our coffee cups."

Alfred laughed, squeezing him closer. "You're a riot, Kirkland."

Arthur seemed to like this, because he twisted in Alfred's grasp to face him, smiling crookedly. "You sure don't seem to mind spending another night with me..."

"Why would I? I like you," Alfred told him freely. "Except... we oughta do something tonight. My headache's feeling better. I know! I could show you around."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What is there to see? Cornfields and cow dung, I think I've seen it all. Unless you're talking about the bar again, in which case, I'm listening."

"Nah," Alfred said breezily, "That's only part. I promise you haven't done anything yet." Truthfully, he wanted to stay as far away from the bar as possible.

"Anything? That's a bold statement," Arthur gave him a sultry smirk. "I suppose it is your territory. Are you going to take me out on a tractor?"

"Have you ever been on one?" Alfred asked, turning onto his back suddenly and throwing his arms behind his neck.

"No, but it can't be that different than a snow mobile." Arthur shifted up so that his head rested on Alfred's chest again. Alfred smiled slightly.

"Oh, Artie, you're not living. It's nothing like that."

"Mmm... so that's one thing I haven't done. I can't think of anything else."

Alfred laughed, "Where's your imagination, song writer? I can think of at least ten things you haven't done yet. I would imagine there's hundreds."

"Are they things worth doing? I only have so much time after all. I can't waste my life doing all the things I haven't done." He said arrogantly.

"Yes..." Alfred nodded and gave him a soft grin, "but you can't miss these. I would reckon to say that some of them are even worth doing twice."

"Alright, what is there? I'm game," Arthur sat up, his eyes sparkling with some sort of challenge.

Alfred smiled, "Get your clothes on."

0 0 0

"No. No. No! Alfred!"

"All you gotta do is jump. Didn't realize you were such a coward, punk!" He stuck out his tongue, but stopped pretending like he was going to push Arthur off the barn rafters. They were about twenty feet off the ground and below them was the most perfectly delightful mass of hay Alfred had ever seen in all his country boy life.

The old-fashioned lantern cast their faces in Halloween colors and shadows. Alfred smiled at Arthur who was looking like he was about to be sick. "You _said _you weren't afraid of heights."

"I didn't realize we'd be jumping off of them," Arthur scowled feverishly, "I don't understand how you can think this is fun."

"You haven't even done it yet," Alfred grinned, "First thing on the list and you're already chickening out on me." He threw back his head and laughed. "I'll go first then, you big baby." He fixed his eyes gleefully on his target and then jumped high enough to scrape his hand across the splintering barn roof. He yelled loudly and then went crashing in a whirlwind of yellow projectiles. It took him a moment to surface again and he was shaking crap out of his hair the rest of the night, but it was totally worth it. This took him back to when he was ten and he and Gil had accidentally set fire to the horses.

"Come on, Artie. It's a blast. Just give it one try," he begged as he stumbled out. "It's like high-diving at a pool. You get to swim out and everything." He laughed again, trying and failing to brush off the little clinging straws.

"Alfred... I really don't..." he hesitated sheepishly, looking down at the mass of yellow beneath him. "Has anyone ever broken their back doing this?"

"I wouldn't know. We haven't actually organized a league yet, but all the young boys do it and they're still walking around. Hell, Arthur, you probably weigh about the same as they do. You don't have anything to fear. Just jump! We've got other things on the list too!"

Arthur stood on the edge of the big crossbeams and sighed. "You're a bit cruel stranding me up here. I was wondering why you kicked the ladder over once we were up."

"Oh don't talk about me being cruel..." Alfred grinned roguishly, "I'm dragging you into the best night of your life. Just jump dickhead and try to touch the roof when you do it."

Arthur took a breath and did. Alfred was slightly amazed. He'd had more than a slight suspicion that he would have to up and rescue him, but he jumped. Albeit with a loud, "Shit!" But he still did it. He stumbled out drunkenly and right into Alfred, who held him by the elbows until he was steady.

"Not so bad right?" He grinned crookedly and picked a piece of hay out of Arthur's hair.

"If you're a damn adrenaline junkie," Arthur breathed out, shaking his head. He dropped his forehead tiredly to Alfred's chest. "You've officially made me nervous for what's on the rest of the list."

"Hey."

"Hey what?" Alfred gave him a rough shove to the shoulders, enough to send him straight off his feet and back first into the hay pile.

"Nothing... just hay." Alfred snickered and started running.

"You get back here, you ass!" Arthur exploded, slipping and scrambling on the dirt floor. "I'll kill you!"

"It's only payback for when you slapped me in the hotel room. Karma, Arthur!" He spun around the corner already fishing the keys to Arthur's motorcycle out of his pocket. Arthur was right behind him, cussing under his breath.

Alfred didn't expect him to jump. But he did. Again. The guy was crazy. He jumped forward, slamming into Alfred's back and sending them both careening into the cornfield.

They hit the dusty ground rolling and it was a battle to see who would end up on top. Alfred wasn't that surprised when Arthur pinned him. "Hey..." he panted, "Careful or you'll get us lost in here."

Arthur gave him a satisfied smirk and dropped his butt heavily on Alfred's stomach. "I think I like it here. Why don't we sit awhile?"

Alfred laughed, trying to catch his breath. "Only if you want the monsters to come out and find us. These fields are haunted. Haven't you seen the movies?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, leaning forward to press his hands to Alfred's shoulders. "You just want me to get off," he challenged, his sour breath washing over Alfred's cheeks.

Alfred smiled, reaching up to rest his hands on Arthur's hips, "No, I don't mind that so much. In fact, if you come a bit closer I might just like it."

Arthur's eyes widened, so Alfred closed the gap himself, lifting his head and pressing his lips softly to Arthur's. He pulled back and when he did, he watched Arthur duck his head abashedly. Alfred reached up to pick another straw of hay from his hair. "Let's not waste this night," he murmured gently, and carefully slipped to his feet, bringing Arthur with him. Slinging an arm around his thin bony shoulders. "I've still got a few things to show you."

Arthur was quiet for awhile, letting Alfred guide him back to the bike and not complaining when Alfred got onto to drive. He wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist and Alfred wondered if he was only imagining his grip being tighter than before. Swallowing and putting any thoughts of later to the back of his head, Alfred gunned it.

0 0 0

It was a small creek. Antonio had found it when they were a lot younger. Alfred pushed aside some of the browned tree branches, holding Arthur's hand tight. They stepped out onto a dry dirt shore, so dusty you would think there wouldn't be water for miles. The creek sparkled below them, black and shiny in the moon light.

It was the perfect spot for a couple of barefoot boys to spend their summers. Alfred smiled, proud that he had still been able to find it after all this time. He brought Arthur to the edge, and Arthur shot him a wary look.

"We're not going swimming, are we?"

Alfred shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. He led them alongside the water for some time, looking. If the creek was still here... he broke into a wider grin. Damn.

"Somebody must have been drunk," Arthur observed with wide eyes.

He laughed. An old '67 Chevy pickup was crashed just inches from the creek's glass surface. It was an old burnt orange and all sorts of vine-y Texas crawlers, brown and dead looking had taken over. "There's probably still some old jerky in the passenger's side," he stated gleefully, dragging Arthur forward. "Come on. The best is yet to come."

"Does that thing work?" Arthur asked doubtfully.

"Nope. Well, at least not that way." Alfred yanked hard on the old rusty handle, stumbling back into Arthur when the door gave way. "Here," he smiled, "Ladies first."

Arthur thumped him on the head, but climbed over the driver's seat and crashed sideways into the passenger's side. Alfred followed, grinning. He slammed the door behind him and leaned back in the cracked leather with a contented sigh. "Now this is childhood. Right here."

"This is all?" Arthur asked him and rolled his eyes, "Here I was thinking you were going to pull some crazy stunt again. Sorry, to burst your bubble, but I've sat in old cars before, Alfred. It's not that fun."

"It is with the right people." Alfred smiled, knowingly. "I think you're missing it, Arthur. Look." He waved a hand out over the dashboard. The gnarled tree branches created a kind of curtain to which the real show was seen through. Alfred knew that no city kid could resist this country charm. Because you could only get it out here.

Arthur frowned. "What the hell's going on up there? Is there a city out that way?"

"I see where you've spent your whole life," Alfred chuckled in disbelief. "Those are the stars, Arthur. You know, in outer space."

Arthur blinked and leaned forward. "Give over. That's shit. That's..." He trailed, shaking his head, mouth going a little slack. His green eyes glowed in the moonlight. "How come there are so many more out here?"

Alfred laughed and Arthur turned on him with raised eyebrows. "I can tell you dropped out of school," Alfred teased. "It's cuz of the light pollution in cities. It creates a bubble and blocks out all the stars so you can't see them. Pretty amazing, huh?"

"That's..." Arthur dropped his gaze with a frown. "That's kind of sad."

Alfred didn't know what to say to that. "Sad?"

"I mean..." Arthur shook his head, "Cities are... they're supposed to be this great... This great spot full of opportunities, but somehow... we lose this."

Alfred blinked, unsure how to react. "Well, at least you can always come out and see the stars, huh?"

"Yeah..." Arthur settled back and continued to look. "I'll assume you know all the constellations."

Alfred shrugged, "My grandpa would, but I don't. My head's too stuffed with school facts." He reached suddenly for Arthur's hand, entwining their fingers. "Guess there's a benefit to dropping out, huh?"

Arthur chuckled tiredly, dropping his head to Alfred's shoulder. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't. Not very often... but sometimes."

"What would you do if you hadn't?"

"I'd... probably do something with writing. You know, I write my own songs. If I took the time and got smart enough, I'd write my own books."

Alfred smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Sounds cool. Once we're reincarnated, I'll find you and we can go for it. I'll own a publishing firm. You'll write. My brother can be a billionaire and pay for all our booze." He nuzzled his nose into Arthur's cheek, making him laugh. "It'll be great."

"You believe that stuff, like Hinduism or whatever?" Arthur murmured, playing with Alfred's fingers.

"Nah... I believe in God. But not that kinda weird New Age crap."

"So you're old-fashioned?" Arthur murmured with a crooked smile.

"A little. My grandpa's the preacher at our little Southern church. And whenever he talks, even if he's wrong, you know he's right."

"If I ever went to church, they'd lock me out faster than you could say Jesus Christ," whispered Arthur forlornly.

"You want to go?" Alfred frowned. "They're not a real church if they refuse you. Jesus... never refused anyone. Prostitutes... drunkards... he wouldn't refuse you."

Arthur laughed wryly. "That's funny, Alfred."

Alfred stared at him for a moment, before making a decision. "Come with me." He pulled Arthur back the way they'd came. Arthur had started yawning, but Alfred wanted to show him one last thing.

0 0 0

It didn't take long to get there on the motorbike. The old steeple seemed to make a spike for the moon, the giant glowing orb right at the end like a lollipop. During the day, the building was gray, but at night under the moon, it was washed white as Tom Sawyer's fence. He noticed that Arthur sidled a bit closer to him when they had to pass through its bulky shadow. Like he was afraid he was already being damned or something.

Alfred put an arm around his shoulders. They went around the back where Alfred knew the squeaky pulpit door would give way. Entering on the platform, the stained glass shown silver and so did the pews. Arthur wouldn't even go near the podium, nearly falling in the baptismal as he skirted it.

"Careful," Alfred whispered, feeling a shock go through his whole body when Arthur positively clung to him to keep from falling in the cold dark water. He didn't move for a minute, so Alfred rubbed his back encouragingly, about to make a teasing comment when Arthur spoke again.

"Alfred..." He growled into Alfred's side, "I don't want to be here."

"Hold on a minute... I want to see something. You can go sit down on one of the pews."

Arthur's grip tightened. "You're not leaving me in the damn dark by myself."

"It's the church, Arthur," Alfred stroked the back of his head, lips quirked in amusement. "If anything this place'll save you, not damn you."

"Whatever... Just hurry up and do what you need to do." He didn't release his grip on Alfred's shirt. So Alfred put an arm around his shoulders and led him around off the stage towards the back of the chapel. It took him a bit of fumbling in the dark and a bit of tripping over Arthur's feet, but he eventually found the door to his grandfather's office.

He let go of Arthur and found the light switch. It was a small, meager office with the bare essentials. Alfred had grown up, playing in here during church elders' meetings. The little toy action figures still had their special places on the near empty bookshelves. Arthur's face was especially pale and he seemed beyond uncomfortable, standing in the empty office as Alfred looked for whatever he was looking for.

Alfred finally found it, hanging around the necks of one of his actions figures. It was his grandfather's father's. Dog tags. He smiled and pulled them off the G.I. Joe, remembering how he used to swear he'd be a soldier when he was older. "Artie," he called softly, "C'mere."

Arthur walked as lightly as possible, pushing his side into Alfred's again. "What?"

"See these. They're from World War II. My great-grandfather's. Guess where he was from." He flipped the tags over, tracing the British serial numbers with a grin. "He lived in England like you did."

"You have the same name..." Arthur whispered, tentatively reaching for the engraved letters.

"Yep, I was named after him," Alfred bobbed his head, "The conqueror, right? Ha, you might not be so far off the mark." He hesitated before stringing the chain suddenly over Arthur's bent head. "I want you to have them. They're mine now. And I figure... since I'll probably never see you again... you can remember your country boy and..." Alfred laughed. "and his hell of a town."

Arthur blinked in surprise, "No, you shouldn't give-"

"I want to. You've been a lot of fun," Alfred grinned, "You're tired now, so I'm only gunna take you to one more place and then I figure you'll want to head... head away. So... if you want... there's a little something to remember me by."

Arthur didn't seem to know what to say, "W-well," he faltered, "I suppose... it'll look good with my skinny jeans." His face turned red, and Alfred couldn't help himself. He grabbed Arthur's chin and kissed him on the lips, drawing him near, holding him tight. When he pulled back, Arthur sighed and put his forehead to Alfred's chest.

"You've been very... nice..." he murmured. Alfred could tell he was about to drop dead. His eyelids were drooping.

"Come on," Alfred drew him close. "I've got a good hideout. We can sleep there."

"Alright."

His 'hideout' was the old treehouse of his youth. This night had practically been a journey through his childhood, anyway. He supposed he had subconsciously done it, some small part of him wanting to show Arthur who he was running with.

As they mounted the creaky steps, Alfred wasn't worried about his parents hearing them. Their house was full of odd sounds and night critters anyway. Arthur who had started up first, paused. "Is that your house?"

"Yup," Alfred yawned, "Home sweet home." He reached up and gave Arthur a rub on the back. "Hurry, or I'll fall asleep right here."

"I just wanted to look," Arthur muttered, climbing up the rest of the way.

The old pillows and musty blankets used for countless play forts were still there, but they settled on the floor instead. The wood had become soft with age and smelled like a heavenly mix of carpenter's dust and dead leaves. Arthur naturally burrowed into his side. It'd been his place all day and it was certainly his place tonight.

The ceiling was nonexistent, opening straight through the branches to the moon and the stars. Crickets were chirping down below and cicadas crowed all around them, a mild night's melody. Alfred could feel himself settling to its lullaby.

"I had fun," he murmured, picking a last piece of hay from Arthur's whirlwind of hair. "I think you make a good anything buddy."

"What does that mean?" Arthur asked softly, pulling Alfred's hands to his chest to play with.

"Means you're good for anything," Alfred smiled, "Sleeping, cuddling, sleeping, jumping from barn roofs, sleeping, getting drunk with, and I'd say definitely sleeping." He kissed Arthur's messy hair, deciding that the taste of straw was quite fitting. "Mmm..." he breathed out. Arthur smelled like tobacco and mint.

"So I haven't got on your nerves?" Arthur asked after a bit.

"Not in the least. Well, maybe in the least. But it's all fun, anyway," Alfred yawned and settled closer.

"I had fun," Arthur agreed quietly.

"Good," Alfred wondered why Arthur hadn't trailed into silence by now. He, for one, was about to crash.

"I thought for sure this morning I'd wake up and you'd be gone..." he whispered.

Alfred frowned drowsily, "Well, that's hardly good manners. I'm Southern, Artie. The yes ma'am type-o boy."

"I know. I know." Arthur squirmed, "Just worried..."

It didn't register in Alfred's mind that Arthur had said 'worried'. He bobbed his head blearily and gave Arthur another kiss on top of the head. "I'm just glad you came around, Arthur. It's been so cool... just talking with you. Not to get gushy, but I think I've had the best two days of my life with you. Of course... I know you've probably had way crazier and better, but it's been fun. I don't regret it."

He gave a last yawn and was gone before he had the chance to hear Arthur say, "I don't regret it."


End file.
